Edited Minds
by Sapphire1984
Summary: Naomi Campbell finds herself caught up in the dark underworld of London, can she escape with her mind and freedom and if it was possible for her to escape, who could help her?


**Hello everyone, so I'm quite new to this site and especially new to writing :-/. I started watching series 5 and well, all it did was make me miss Gen 2, which in turn led me to this site. There are some brilliant stories on here but I hope I can add something a little different.**

**This will be quite dark, but I promise there will be lighter parts and underneath it all, it is essentially going to be a love story.**

**Please let me know what you think of it, but be kind as this is my first venture in writing.**

**Disclaimer : I don't own skins, if I did I would have followed Gen 2 to University..**

******Completely forgot to add that this is AU and will in no way relate to the show, however, if the opportunity arises I hope to slip in more of the more memorable quotes or scenes :-)******

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Grey, I fucking hate that colour I really do. I mean what the fuck is it? It's so drab and dull it doesn't conjure up any thoughts to go with it. If I think of white, I think bright startling and sterile, a blank canvas if you like. When I think of black, I think of midnight, depression and darkness. Grey is that colour in between that means nothing, that stands for nothing and just leaves me filled with, well fucking nothing. Well, it used to until now. I look around me and all I see is grey now. The four walls on every side of me, grey. The tiny metal bed I'm sitting on, grey. The drab, baggy clothes everyone in here wears, grey. I even think my skin is starting to turn grey, probably just my eyes unable to see beyond the grey I see around me and I have feelings to go with grey now, dark feelings, feelings of anger and pain and complete hopelessness, it's seeped it's way under my skin and it's all I can see or feel. I fucking hate the colour grey now.

Once again, I think to myself. How the fuck did I end up here?

My life has always been pretty fucking ordinary and by ordinary I mean dull. Ordinary (dull) job, journalist for the London Evening Standard. It wasn't supposed to be a dull job it was supposed to be amazing, I was supposed to change the world, reporting on the atrocities around the world. But things didn't work out that way and the most exciting story I'd been given was a few months ago when some fucked up young girl killed herself in some seedy little club up in Bristol. You see for every journo like me there are hundreds more who want my job, even if it's nothing what they imagined they'll do it in the hope that it will lead to their big break. The only thing that makes me slightly different is that I take my own photographs as well as carry out interviews, yep, multi-talented that's me.

So a year ago, my life was so fucking ordinary no-one would have wanted to be me, went to work, went home afterwards, twice a week I went for a pint with my best mates, that was it. Now, my life is so fucking shit that again no-one would want to be me but for completely different reasons. I don't know if I'll ever get used to being in here, spending hours cooped up inside with only my own mind for company. I miss my freedom, I hate being watched twenty four fucking hours a day. Routine is another way I would have described my life, I wish that aspect had changed but if anything it was worse now. I get up when they tell me, I go outside when they tell me, take my pills when they tell me. If I didn't have the shitty little metal toilet in the corner of the room I'm sure they'd even tell me when I can go for a shit or a piss.

I miss my old shitty little life, I miss the boring predictability of the days that almost morphed into one. I would give anything to turn back the clock to a year ago, before I was given my last assignment, before I agreed to it, before I ended up going down the road that lead me here.

**One Year Ago**

"Campbell get your stubborn arse in here now!" My boss barks at me through the phone line, I sigh and shake my head returning the phone to it's cradle with a thud, before grabbing my notebook and dragging myself towards the office at the end of the corridor.

I reluctantly push open the door and roll my eyes at the sight of my boss, the editor of the Newspaper. Gregory Shitbalm is the bane of my life, he hates me and I hate him and I kind of like it that way. He hates me because I'm unattainable (whilst I realise this makes me sound conceited, I must admit that it's not my beauty which makes me unattainable, but more that it is due to my personal preferences. As it is I would describe myself as just like my job, average. Quite tall, blonde and I would say when I make an effort I can be quite pretty, I have heard others refer to me as beautiful but I just scoff and roll my eyes, all I see when I look in the mirror is someone quite plain with pretty coloured eyes and no-one has ever managed to convince me otherwise) and I hate him because ultimately I have no respect for him this is due to the fact that despite assurances from him when I first started, that I wouldn't be reporting on shitty little stories forever. Here I am three years later, writing up a story about some car insurance company refusing to pay out on some little shits claim. I left uni with big dreams and ideas and they've got me shit all so far, I feel like I'm going backwards rather than forwards. Like a tape in fucking rewind all I can see is me going through the same shit every day, faces and years change but I'm still here, still repeating the same mundane things.

"Mr Tilbalm." I say sliding into the hard plastic seat in front of his wide, dark oak desk.

I find myself staring with jealousy at his large, plush leather recliner office chair. One of the other reasons that I hate Shitbalm so much is because he's all about drawing a line between him and us. We are just uneducated monkeys while he is the smartest fucker that ever lived. He has about as much intelligence as a stupid as fuck footballer, chasing balls around the pitch and chasing his own balls off the pitch. His office is all about luxury, the seat he lounges on, the expensive art that decorates the walls, the only cheap item in whole fucking room is the shitty Ikea plastic chair I'm currently slumped in.

"Campbell, sit." He barks.

I roll my eyes again, he's clearly not intending to fucking look up from his laptop any-time soon, he's probably watching porn, getting his jollies while I'm in the same room as him, fucking pervert.

"Is there a rea.." I trail off as he finally looks up at me and slams the laptop closed.

"Shut it Campbell!" He barks at me again.

I go to speak again but he holds his hand up to stop me, the prick actually holds his hand up to silence me, what an absolute knob jockey.

"I didn't stutter did I?" I shake my head and roll my eyes simultaneously. "Didn't fucking think so, nice article last week, a little weak, but it was good."

I attempt to smile, and nod my head as a thanks, cheeky twat.

"I was under the impression you liked it here Campbell, but a little birdy has told me your looking to move on."

A little birdy my arse. A little slut is more like it, Melissa obviously overheard me and decided to tell Shitbalm as he was bending her over his desk, giving her all the good assignments as well as a seeing to. I shudder at the thought of the big, fat, hairy oaf in front of me touching anyone let alone someone who, even though I hate her I can say, is kinda hot.

"Pussy got your tongue Campbell?" He barks at me before laughing loudly and banging his big, thick fist on the desk, clearly finding his joke about my sexuality hilarious.

"You told me to be quiet." I say in my most controlled voice, giving myself a pat on the back for not lunging across the desk and smashing his face in. Ahh to be calm and collected without murderous thoughts about my boss.

"Well now I'm telling you to fucking talk you arrogant little twat."

I simply roll my eyes at the insults he throws my way, as this is the way Shitbalm talks to everybody, I'm used to it.

"I have been thinking about moving on yes, Melissa was right with what she told you." I can't help but smirk as his big round face turns a lovely shade of deep red and the large purple vein in his forehead starts to pound.

""W-well, I mean, it wasn't, yes, well why are you thinking of leaving?" He blusters, reaching up one his fat sweaty hands to pull his collar away from his neck slightly as if he's suddenly struggling to breath.

"Because when I first started here I wanted to be a real Journo, I wanted to write stories about injustice and politics. I wanted to be a voice for people who couldn't be heard..." I trail off as I notice him shaking his head at me.

"Fuck sake Campbell, I'm sure you weren't this full of shit when I took you on. I'm pretty sure I would have told you to fuck off."

I snort and shake my head. "You fucking told me I was like a breath of fresh air and that you wanted me as your star writer within the year." I knew the reason that had changed though, it changed around about the time that he realised that unless he had tits and a fanny I wouldn't be going anywhere near him. It was unfair but that's life.

"Alright alright, I know what you're getting at. You want better stories, you don't want to cover shit about missing pets yeah?"

I nod my head, because, really, what else can I say. He must know I've been unhappy for a while, it's not like I've never grumbled when he gave me the shit assignments. Surely I'm not alone in the feelings that I have associated with my job, well that is exactly the point, it was never supposed to be a job. It was supposed to be me living out my dream and as I've already said, being the voice that spoke for people who couldn't. Now, I find myself being so bored by my work, I'm sick of fucking typing words that I feel nothing for, that I ultimately don't want to be typing and sometimes I find that my fingers even stop typing mid-sentence seeming to detect my reluctance. I don't like having these feeling associated with something I once loved so much, that's why I complain so much, but Shitbalm usually has his head too far up his own arse to care or to even bother listening most times. I start to think about ways to get out of his office without listening to a thirty minute rant about how he is doing what he feels is right, how I'm not ready for more responsibility, but I'm pulled out of my reverie when a brown envelope is pushed across his desk towards me.

"Fucking look at it then Campbell." He says with a smirk on his face and I'm wondering if these are my marching orders.

I pick the envelope up and slowly peel it open, I slide the A4 sheet of paper out with details printed on it and a snapshot of a woman.

"Your new assignment." He says proudly puffing his chest out like a pigeon.

"No fucking way." I say quickly shoving the contents back inside the envelope and placing it back on the desk.

"Tell me you are fucking kidding me, do you want a big fucking story or not!" He snaps, his large eyes bulging out of his head slightly with anger.

"Come on, I wanted an interesting assignment, not one that would fucking bore me to death. I don't want to fucking interview some fucking socialite who has no real talent or social conscience." I snort.

"Don't over react, to the world she's a fucking socialite. Gorgeous and mysterious with a penchant for wild parties. I need someone to get to know her, you go in on the basis of getting some pretty little shots of her and doing like a week in the life type shot. While your following her around like some kind of gullible fucking lesbo fan you can see if everything is as it appears. Chances are that she's as clean as a whistle but I want the D.L on her. Everyone loves to hate her, so maybe you can get people on her side a little or maybe you can uncover something more."

I can't help but snort out a laugh, did he seriously just fucking say D.L who the fuck does he think he is? Some American kid in a shitty little television series, talking about the big bad world while driving around in their little convertibles living their perfect lives.

"Like I fucking said, I'll be fucking bored, I want to be challenged, how will this do that? From what I've heard, it's her lad that is into all the dodgy shit not her. She looks as clean as a whistle, just a little spoilt"

"I know it's not ideal, but it's high profile. This would be a stepping stone for you, you deliver well on this and you'll be the talk of the fucking town, she's notoriously unwilling to talk to reporters, to let anyone close and open up, if you manage to do that, you can have your pick of jobs. Hell, if it's good enough I'll give you first refusal on everything. But, if you really don't want it, I'm sure Melissa would be willing to take it on." He reaches across to grab the envelope but I quickly slap my hand down on it, leaning forward as I do so.

"We both know that's an empty threat. She's an airhead and you know she wouldn't be able to get close enough to her, she's too volatile and easily threatened." I wait until he finishes glaring at me and nods before continuing. "I'll do it, fuck me I don't even know why, call it desperation." Desperation? I'd call it fucking madness, I have no idea what's possessed me but what I do know is that I can't not do this, I can't pass up this kind of an opportunity. I need to stop thinking of the consequences and start taking chances.

**Present Day**

"Meds" A hard banging on the cell door brings me back to the present and I grudgingly pull myself from the cot and open the hatch in front of me, taking the plastic tray from the hatch and swallowing the array of brightly coloured pills down in one gulp. I slowly make my way back to the cot and curl up, waiting for the poison in the pills to numb my senses and do me more harm than good.

Now, I suppose I should explain where I am and why I'm here. My current 'home' is Rampton High Security Mental Hospital, I'm here awaiting trial. I currently pose too much of a threat to myself and others to be sentenced immediately. Apparently the 'powers' that be deem me unfit to face trial so I'll be here until they say I'm mentally capable. The problem? There's not a fucking thing wrong with, well other than being royally screwed over and many other scenarios that ended up with my word meaning shit to anyone and certainly to those 'powers'. By powers I mean the psychologists, the police and the judge that have all decided I stay until I show signs that I'm more 'stable'.

I would say that the only thing they are correct about is that I cause a fucking threat to others, mainly one other person, the main person responsible for me being here in this shit hole terrified out of my fucking mind. The hospital itself isn't the worst, it's modern and the ward I am is pretty secluded. But what is the worst are the people I'm sharing it with, I know the kind of fucking criminals in here and what they've done. I'm not like them, and I never envisioned myself in a place like this, but I have blood on my hands and no way to explain how it got there.

The why I'm here is a little harder to explain and will take a lot longer for me to get to, but I should start with the main reason, the main reason being 'her'. She strode into my life on that fateful assignment last year and I've been feeling the ramifications ever since.

I had been getting the shoot ready in an old disused warehouse on the outskirts of London, when she strutted into the building like she fucking owned it and when I looked up and my eyes met hers I swear it was like she owned me too. She was one of the most stunning creatures I had ever seen as she slunk her way across the room like a gazelle, graceful but almost predatory in her movements. Her legs seemed never ending in her tiny denim shorts and her body looked like it had been carved from the finest granite, her muscles moving beneath her beautifully pale skin. Her hair hung in glossy waves down her back, but it was her eyes that had me hook line and sinker, fucking huge big pools of depth, that had me drawn in and almost hypnotised. I just knew then and there that she would fuck me over in some way, although even I didn't realise just how much she could ruin me.

After an initial frosty reception, she eventually warmed up to me, my no nonsense attitude seemed to appeal to her and within three hours she had guided me away from the shoot to an underground club in the Notting Hill. We slipped down a back alley and she stopped in front of a shiny black door, there was no indications of what lay behind the door, just a small gold plaque on the wall that read 'Elite', she used a key to open the door and beckoned for me to follow her. As we walked through another door and then down some concrete steps, I started to hear a beat coursing through the floors and walls to me and as we entered a final metal door to be met with a relatively small space, the floors were concrete and the walls exposed bricks. What hit me immediately was the sheer volume of the music, it seemed to be pounding from within the decaying brickwork, the second thing that struck me that the vodkas and whiskeys were more expensive than my monthly council tax payments. The people crammed into the small space looked like bank managers and their kept wives or mistresses. On first glance I had thought that the club was a bit dank and the kind of place me and my friends would have went to in college, but the more I looked around the more I realised that the booths that lined the walls looked expensive and were real leather with the letter E carved into each seat and the tables in front of the seats looked like black marble, they also had built-in ice buckets for champagne. The bar top was also marble, with a solid gold inlay of the name of the club, the more I looked the more I realised that this was definitely an exclusive establishment and definitely somewhere I didn't belong. But I knew the outline of my assignment was to get close to this girl, so as long as she was buying the drinks, I was staying around.

After drinking more vodka than I ever thought humanely possible, dancing and grinding against each other like we were at some piss poor rave smashed off our faces instead of an exclusive club with disapproving glares being sent our way. We had ended up sitting side by side next to the Thames, my eyes unable to pull away from the swirling black depths of the river. Whatever it was we had taken in the club was still coursing through my veins, pumping around my body and speeding up my heart rate slightly so in the cold November air where I should have been shivering I was actually sweating slightly. We were passing a joint back and forth between us silently when she spoke up, shattering the eerie silence and gave me a warning that I can still hear ringing in my ears to this day and I have never wished more than I do now that I had listened to it.

Her voice was husky and slightly scratchy, which had caused a delightful shudder to run through my body, her smoky breath washed over my face as she leaned in close to me and caught me by the eyes, drawing me in so I couldn't escape from what she had to tell me.

"Miss Campbell, Naomi, Naoms even." She said with an ugly sneer on her face as my names rolled from her tongue like they left a bad taste in her mouth. "I'm only going say this once because I'm not about the warnings, I believe life is one huge fucked up learning curve, but I must really like you to even consider saying this. But, if you stick around, if you integrate yourself in my fucked up little world, I will screw you over, I will break you down bit by bit until your just as fucking crazy as I am. I chew people up and spit them out and I don't give a fuck about the consequences and what remains of your fragile little mind. So, if your smart you'll run for your fucking life and thank your lucky stars you managed to get away unscathed, and if your not then you deserve everything that comes your way." Her eyes were almost black as she stared into mine, like she was trying to read me. She had then tilted her head to the side with a small smirk on her face and nodded her head slowly, seeming to come to some kind of a decision before turning from me, gracefully springing up from the grass bank we were sitting and saying softly. "Thought so, come on then." Holding her delicate looking hand out to me.

I had looked up at her outstretched hand and to this day, I don't know how she knew I was already hooked and that I was going to take it, but I needed to know more about her so without thinking I reached out and intertwined our fingers, allowing myself to be pulled up and along with her.

The lights flicker in my room to let me know that it's lights out soon, bringing me back to the present once more. I look around me now and I think how honest she was with me back then, she knew what she was capable on and she fucking warned me, she fucking warned me and I didn't listen. Whilst she may not have succeeded in driving me mad, did that even matter any-more when she has managed to convince everyone else I am, as well as convincing them I am capable of much worse.

I hope she's fucking proud of herself, she did exactly what she told me she would. She broke me down bit by bit until I barely knew whether to trust my own mind any-more. Well the one thing being in here has afforded me is time to think and to plan and if, no, when, I get the fuck out of here I'm going to hunt down Elizabeth Stonham and show her just how crazy I can be.

**Ermm so let me know what you think please.**


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